Minutes to Midnight
by InsanityInReverse
Summary: "Friends," Toris corrects. "We're just friends, Liz. You know that." / "Totally," Feliks said in agreement, though his voice was muffled by the fact that he had his face pushed into Toris' chest. "Just friends." [LietPol]


**A/N **;; This beginning chapter is still kind of rough, to be honest. I think it's suitable to publish online, but I might come back and edit this a little bit sometime in the future.

Anyway, welcome to **Minutes to Midnight**, a LietPol story that I've wanted to write for what feels like _forever. _I personally love this pairing, and I hope I'll do it even a little bit of justice in this story. If I've screwed up the characters beyond recognition, do tell me. This is my first time writing either Lithuania or Poland as main characters (or as any character, really) so my interpretations might be a little off. If they are, please tell me so I can work on making them better.

Human names for those who aren't aware are as follows:  
Poland – Feliks Łukasiewicz  
Lithuania – Toris Laurinaitis  
Hungary – Elizabeta Héderváry  
Prussia – Gilbert Beilschmidt  
Netherlands – (Lars) _Netherlands doesn't have an official human name, as far as I know. I've seen this name used before, and I like it a lot, so it's being used here, as well. _

I remember taking this down for some reason, though I can't exactly recall the reason _why. _There must have been something seriously wrong with this chapter, and I'm just not seeing it now, but whatever.

Enjoy!

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**Minutes to Midnight**

**…o…**

**Chapter One**

**…o…**

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"I'm, like, so happy right now," Feliks muttered softly, his voice floating up to reach Toris' ears through the veil of smoke surrounding them. Feliks was very obviously higher than a kite, and it seemed as though Toris was nearly halfway there himself. Perhaps there really was something to the second-hand smoke thing he had heard from Lars and Elizabeta before he had agreed to come to this thing. The Lithuanian chased the thought from his head, however, and lifted his head off the back of the couch, taking a look down at his best friend, whose head was lying on his chest, the mess of shoulder-length blond hair splaying over Toris' dark shirt.

"You're high, Feliks," Toris replied simply, making a little shrugging motion. It was completely and utterly true, and Feliks didn't bother to make a move to deny it, instead choosing to nuzzle his face into the Lithuanian's shirt. Toris let out a little sigh, but didn't deny Feliks' actions.

Toris' green eyes ached from exhaustion as he pushed his head back into the pillow of the couch, looking up towards the high ceiling. He watched as the smoke spiralled upwards with no other place to go, strands twisting into one another, moulding together and breaking apart, a whirlwind of desire to escape the stuffy room.

But there was no escape from this room – a room that, with the copious amounts of body heat in such a small space, was beginning to feel an awful lot like a sauna, if Toris had anything to say about it. So, instead, the smoke could only fan out, thinning into strands of greying silk, creating a sheet of thin fog above all their heads, little pinpricks of light shining through it like the lights on the other side of the misty lake in a trashy horror novel.

Toris turned his head to where he thought his other friends must have been sitting, but the only proof of their presence in the room was the shadows and silhouettes of their individual bodies. And even those were blurred by the smoke that seemed to be suffocating any oxygen that was left, filling the room more and more with each passing minute, and taking a little bit more away from Toris' focus each time he took a breath of air.

One of Feliks' arms was wrapped around Toris' waist, manicured nails trailing gently over the small of the Lithuanian's back, reaching up almost to his shoulders before trailing back down again. Toris' breath caught slightly each time the Polish boy's nails ran over the more sensitive parts of his back, where the deep, ugly scars marred his skin. Feliks didn't seem to notice his reactions – or, if he did notice, he didn't care.

"Toris," a voice called out to him through the haze, feminine and sweet, and Toris turned towards the speaker, seeking out the silhouette of the owner of the voice. "You should leave if the smoke is getting to you, hun," she said kindly, and Toris squinted through the fog of contaminated air to identify her shadow, his gaze easily locking onto her bright green eyes, giving his dazed mind an anchor of sorts, giving him something to focus on.

He quickly identified the source of the voice to be Elizabeta, and her words made Toris pause mid-yawn to listen to her, but he shakes his head at her suggestion, despite that she wasn't likely to see the action anyway. The smoke was beginning to sting at his eyes, salty tears pricking in the corners, and Toris hadn't been able to lift his hand fast enough to catch the tears before they disappeared down beside the skin of his eyes, falling into his hair. He quickly wiped any remaining wetness from his face and focused on giving Elizabeta a reply.

"No, no, I can't," he mutters, and Elizabeta shifts slightly, leaning a bit closer to hear him over the music, making her hair fall into her eyes before she moves it out of the way again, absently adjusting the flower in her hair. "I have to stay here with Feliks," Toris continued. "He wanted me to come here with him. I can't leave him alone."

"Mmhmm," Feliks hummed in agreement, reaching out a lazy hand towards Elizabeta. The Hungarian girl took it without question, only smiling as Feliks tugged her closer to him, sending her a wide smile in return before releasing her hand, bringing his own back to rest on Toris' upper arm. "That's true, Lizzy," he said. "He's, like, my security blanket or something. He totally has to stay with me."

That wasn't necessarily true, Toris thought. The only reason Elizabeta was there in the first place was to keep an eye on Gilbert, and Toris knew that she wouldn't mind taking Feliks off his hands if he wanted her to – the Polish boy wouldn't find it odd to wake up in her home at all. She was more than capable to haul both Gilbert and Feliks out of the room if needed, and she would be able to devote her full attention to Feliks if Toris wanted to leave at the moment. Gilbert wasn't really at the top of her list to pay attention to currently, as he seemed quite preoccupied talking with Lars and the blond kid sprawled out on the Dutchman's lap.

Elizabeta laughed and gave up on her cause, though she never took her eyes off of them, reaching down into the pocket of her jeans and fingering with whatever was inside. Toris' toes curled as he yawned once again, his free hand stroking Feliks' back at the Polish's boy request – more like a demand, though, really. It seemed to relax Feliks even more, and he made a sound that sounded almost akin to a purr when Toris shifted slightly, the Lithuanian's legs intertwining with his, pushing Toris deeper into the stuffy couch.

Maybe he was being slightly overprotective of Feliks, Toris thought, but he felt as though his feelings were justified. It was only Feliks' first time, and the Lithuanian felt as though he needed to be there whenever Feliks wasn't sober to make sure no harm would come to him. He didn't really have an excuse as to why Feliks acted the way he did when he was sober, but it isn't often that anyone even bothers to ask for one. Most of them are used to it, at this point.

"I'm, like, _soooo _happy right now," Feliks repeated himself, sounding dazed and surprisingly clear at the same time.

Toris couldn't help the little smile that crossed his face. "I know," he said. "You already said that." From the other side of the room, their friends' voices floated in and out of Toris' concentration. It was as though they spoke in whispers through the veil of smoke, and he could hear his and Feliks' names being exchanged every so often. But at that moment, with Feliks sprawled across his body and undoubtedly euphoric, he couldn't really care less.

"That was like… totally ages ago, Liet," Feliks replied, sliding his fingers into the palm of Toris' hand, Toris folding his own fingers across to brush against his friend's. He didn't bother to protest against the use of the nickname; he had accepted the fact that Feliks was never going to let it go a very long time ago. "I can, like, feel my heartbeat _every_where, even in my fingers…" He wiggles his fingers to enunciate his point. "And… like… it's so awesome…" he mutters, switching to using his fingertips to trace the lines in Toris' palm.

"It was only a few minutes ago," Toris corrects him gently, automatically lifting his hand from Feliks' back to rake softly through his messy blond hair. He grins, amused as he tried to brush through the tangles, and looked off to the side, through the smoke towards the other people in the room. How many of them are there? He can't even remember. Were there five? Six? He didn't remember, and the only person he could distinctly see was Elizabeta, but that was because her bright clothing stood out in the haze.

She was talking to Gilbert – though quietly scolding seemed like a more accurate description, judging by Gilbert's childish pout and Elizabeta's vague threats about a frying pan – though whether or not the red-eyed boy is actually listening to her is beyond him. He could only just barely see the outlines of Lars and the kid on top of him, worn red hoodie dulled with the smoke.

He could feel Feliks shift on top of him again, moving to tilt his head up so that he could look up at him more clearly. Large, clear green eyes and sharp, pretty-but-not-quite-feminine features stare up happily at Toris, a wide grin spread across his face.

"You know what? I love you, Liet," he said light-heartedly, and the electric lights that were damped by the smoke played off of Feliks' high cheekbones and made his eyes seem almost to glitter.

"I know," Toris replied. And maybe it was the smoke getting to him, or the fact that he was tired and wasn't exactly thinking straight, but he said, "I love you too," and perhaps meant it a little too much.

There was the sudden flash of a camera, and Toris' head jerked in the direction from which it came from, frowning at Elizabeta while she grinned in return. Gilbert was standing behind the Hungarian, peeking over her shoulder, looking pleasantly dazed. As he caught Feliks and Toris' eyes, Gilbert grinned wildly.

"Aww, would you look at the lovebirds," Elizabeta cooed at Gilbert, who couldn't seem to care less. She frowned at his lack of enthusiasm and pulled him back by the sleeve of his shirt as he tried to walk away, shaking her head. Then, she snapped one last picture before pocketing her digital camera, ignoring Gilbert's whining as Toris spoke up.

"Friends," Toris corrects. "We're just friends, Liz. You know that," he told her, eyes drawn towards Gilbert as the light glinted off his many ear piercings.

Second-hand smoke was not his friend, evidently.

"Totally," Feliks said in agreement, though his voice was muffled by the fact that he had his face pushed into Toris' chest. "Just friends."

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**A/N **;; Sure, guys, _sure… Just friends. _Pfft.

Stay awesome, guys!


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